Career Consultations
by Alohaemora
Summary: Harry wasn't the only one who helped Fred and George achieve their dream of owning a joke shop.


18 January 1994

The quiet serenity of a late-January night lingered quite resolutely in the air. The pale moonlight glowing feebly through the large bay windows and the dim afterglow of the solitary fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room radiated just enough light to distinguish the huddle of five settled, barely awake, in the middle of the expanse.

They sat in a haphazardly untidy fashion. Legs were flung carelessly over laps, arms around shoulders, and batches of various pamphlets, leaflets and notices littered the floor upon which the quintet was seated. They were a distinct entanglement of appendages, parchment, and exhaustion.

"Well, I know what I'm _not_ going to be after leaving Hogwarts," Angelina Johnson said firmly, tossing a pamphlet into the pile in front of her.

"And what's that?" Alicia Spinnet inquired lazily.

She gingerly picked up the pamphlet that Angelina had cast off and smoothed it out.

"St. Mungo's Guide to Doctoring Dreams," Alicia read out. "We require that each Healer-applicant has at least an 'E' at N.E.W.T. level in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts—blimey, are they joking?"

"I don't reckon so," Lee Jordan sighed tiredly, letting his head fall back against the cream-colored wall behind him. "It's supposed to be a very…skillful…job, isn't it?"

"The main reason why _you'd_ never make it into the healing business," Fred Weasley joked, sniggering at the mock-wounded expression that articulated on Lee's face.

"I'm skillful," Lee spluttered indignantly. "Even McGonagall thinks so. Every time she passes back an essay, she says, 'Jordan, you seem to have _great aptitude_ for failing every Transfiguration essay you write.'"

The group erupted into peals of laughter. Lee grinned good-naturedly around at them all.

"How about this one, Ange?" George Weasley asked the girl to his right. He passed her a leaflet.

"The Department of Magical Games and Sports," Angelina recited. She considered the leaflet thoughtfully. "You know…this isn't a bad idea. All I need is an 'E' or above in Charms, and some sort of previous gaming experience."

"And you'll have about five years of Quidditch involvement to your credit by the time you graduate," Fred supplied. "It sounds like your kind of job, Angel."

"Don't call me 'Angel'," Angelina snapped halfheartedly, her eyes still glued to the leaflet she was flipping through.

"Everyone, I believe I've found my calling at last," Lee said solemnly, but no one could miss the amused glint in his eye.

Slowly, he held up a notice which had an appallingly grotesque face stamped across the front. It was headed 'Have You Got What It Takes To Train Security Trolls?'

"Perfect," Fred deadpanned, whilst the others chuckled.

"Hey—wait a minute—how come you two haven't looked through any of these, Fred, George?" Alicia demanded, arching an eyebrow as she gestured to the several brochures that were strewn across the maroon-carpeted floor.

There was a pause as Angelina and Lee looked up to stare curiously at Fred and George.

"We—er—we don't need these," Fred said hesitantly, indicating the immense pile of notices with a half-glance at his brother.

Angelina, Alicia, and Lee all stared, nonplussed, at Fred and George.

"What are you talking about?" Angelina asked, at last. Alicia nodded incredulously. "Of course you need them! How else are you going to get jobs?"

Fred opened his mouth to answer, but Angelina beat him to it.

"Do _not_ tell me that you and George plan to stay unemployed for the rest of your lives, Fred Weasley," Angelina said sharply. "I'm not letting you two kip at my house for that long."

"You'd go insane," Alicia pointed out, winking at Angelina.

"No, we're not going to be unemployed," George professed. "What Fred meant is that…what we're planning on doing out of Hogwarts isn't really in these pamphlets."

"I knew it!" Lee exclaimed suddenly, bolting upright. His four friends jumped violently in their seats and shot him dirty looks. "You two are going to be the most notorious con men the Wizarding World will have ever seen, aren't you?"

Angelina narrowed her eyes threateningly at Fred and George. "Say it isn't so."

"It isn't," said Fred hastily, and Lee retired back into his leaning position with a dismayed look upon his face. Angelina and Alicia now looked somewhat appeased.

"Then, _what_ are you two talking about?" Alicia persisted.

Fred chanced a fleeting look at his brother. "Should we tell them?" he murmured.

George gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Angelina raised her dark eyebrows, regarding her redheaded friends with an expression of uncertainty. "What—?"

"George and I are planning on starting our own business," Fred finally conceded.

Angelina and Alicia's mouths dropped open in awe. The pin drop silence was interrupted by Lee bellowing abruptly, "Wicked!"

He was met with two simultaneously forceful blows to the head, courtesy of Alicia and Angelina.

"Shut up, you _prat_," Angelina hissed furiously.

"How on Earth are you going to pass your O.W.L.s, Lee," Alicia wondered aloud, shaking her head in disbelief, "when you don't even have the sense to stay quiet at eleven o'clock in the night?" Alicia finished, with a glance at her wristwatch.

"Merlin, is it really that late?" Angelina asked, startled. "We'd better get to bed, or we can be sure that Wood is going to lose his head during practice tomorrow—"

She stopped short, eyes widening with alarm, as the distinct sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs of the Boys' Dormitories met her ears.

"Too late," she cringed as the brown-haired, burly form of their Scottish Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood, appeared in the doorway. He looked, to say the least, completely livid. His crisp, hazel eyes were alight with fury, and his ocher hair was tousled in a way that made it certain that he'd spent the entire night tossing and turning with anxiety about the upcoming Gryffindor Quidditch match.

And, it was evident—from the look on his face—that he was not the least bit pleased to find the majority of his team still _awake_ in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Way to go, Lee," Alicia mumbled, her mouth set in a grim line.

"Team!" Oliver barked obstreperously. "Bed, _now_!"

Not even Fred and George dared to defy his orders.

* * *

><p>19 January 1994<p>

"What time are we supposed to be at McGonagall's office again?" George yawned, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He'd only gotten six hours of sleep the previous night; Oliver Wood had woken them up at five o'clock sharp for an early morning Quidditch practice.

Fred glanced down at his schedule. "Half past two." He hesitated for a moment. Then— "George, what do you reckon we should tell McGonagall we've decided on for a career?"

George sighed. "I don't know. Maybe we should just…be honest. Merlin knows she won't believe us if we tell her that we want to be pompous Ministry officials like Percy does."

Fred looked doubtful, but he nodded, nonetheless.

And, so, two hours later found two uncharacteristically jumpy twins seated in identical wooden chairs, opposite Minerva McGonagall.

"This meeting is to negotiate any career ideas you might currently have, and to help you determine which subjects you should continue into during your sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts," explained Professor McGonagall curtly, observing Fred and George calculatingly over her square-spectacles. "Have you two had any thoughts about what you might like to do after leaving Hogwarts?"

Fred and George exchanged a glance.

"Actually, Professor, we've known our ideal career choices for…a while now," Fred confessed.

"Is that so?" McGonagall looked taken aback. "And, is it something that I may be aware of without requiring to give you both a lifetime's worth of detentions?"

The twins grinned identically.

"We want to start our own business," Fred said.

"A joke shop, to be specific," George added.

If she was even the least bit shocked by this revelation, McGonagall made no indication of showing it. She merely gazed sternly from Fred to George, making them both feel immeasurably uncomfortable.

But, when she spoke, there was an affectionate quality in her voice that left the twins feeling stunned. "I can't think of a profession that would suit your ridiculously mischievous natures better than the one you've chosen already."

She beamed warmly at them both.

However, the sudden change in temperament was apparently only temporary because, the very next instant, she was back to her usual, no-nonsense self. "Now, have you two started working on creating merchandise for this…future shop of yours?"

"We have, actually," George said proudly. "Each summer, we manage to invent at least one more. Mum has no clue. She stopped cleaning our room ages ago."

"I can't imagine Molly would be too happy with this plan," McGonagall said, the smallest of smiles playing at her lips.

"Well, it's what we want that matters, isn't it?" Fred asked defensively.

"Absolutely," McGonagall agreed briskly. "When it comes to things like this, you should…always follow…your heart," her voice caught slightly on the last word, and Fred and George shared a helpless look.

"Are—are you alright, Professor?" George asked gently.

"Quite," said McGonagall at once. "Now, as much as I support your career choice, I must stress to you the reality of having your own business."

Fred and George gazed blankly up at her.

"First of all, you'll need some sort of start-up fund," McGonagall continued. "In order for you both to buy yourself a shop building and start your business off, successfully."

The twins' faces fell in unison, and McGonagall felt a pang off sympathy at the sight of their distressed expressions.

"We've got no chance." Fred sighed miserably.

"How in Merlin's name are we to save up enough money for that?"

"Now, don't say that," McGonagall instructed, eyebrows knitting. "In time, an opportunity will come along. And when it does, by all means, take it!"

The twins looked still-discouraged.

"Listen, you two, you can't give up," McGonagall commanded, swiftly climbing to her feet. "I know you both very well. With drive like yours, you_ will _have a joke shop to call your own…in two years' time. I'd swear by it."

* * *

><p>03 June 1996<p>

Minerva McGonagall gazed, dumbfounded at the gigantic purple poster emblazoned across Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"U-No-Poo," she mouthed in disbelief. The nerve of it all.

Still feeling rather bemused, she found herself entering the shop. In an instant, she was completely surrounded by people. The place was packed. She stared around at her surroundings, impressed. Boxes piled high to the ceiling…the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins had put so much effort into idealizing during their last year at Hogwarts.

She noticed that the Nosebleed Nougat was the most popular. The only one that didn't make you feel ill while taking it, she realized. Well, woe betide anybody who acquired a sudden nosebleed in Transfiguration.

Continuing on through the store, she caught sight of bins and bins of trick wands—the cheapest of which merely turned into rubber chickens or haddocks when waved, and the most expensive of which hammered the unsuspecting user around the head and neck. Boxes of quills…Self-Inking…Spell-Checking…Smart-Answer.

Finally, a space cleared in the crowd, and Minerva pushed her way through the mounting crowd, eyes desperately searching out a pair of freckled, redheaded boys.

"Professor?"

She swiveled around, coming face-to-face with a beaming Fred and George, both of whom were wearing a set of freshly laundered, magenta robes.

"Hello, boys," she said fondly. "You've done brilliantly." She smiled, gesturing around at the many delighted little boys and girls, who were running up and down the store in excitement. "I'm betting you could buy over Zonko's soon at this rate."

"Thanks for all your help, Professor," Fred said sincerely.

"We really owe some of it to you, for all the advice you gave us," George put in, bowing his head in gratitude.

"And if you would like to buy anything," Fred grinned mischievously, pointing at the various displays which surrounded him, "we would be more than happy to give you a large discount."

"Oh, now, don't be silly," McGonagall chuckled in spite of herself. "I'm far too old for these things."

Nonetheless, Minerva McGonagall found herself apparating back to Hogwarts that evening, her arms piled high with various boxes, all of which were marked, 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.'

* * *

><p>I was reading the Order of the Phoenix yesterday and I came to that chapter called "Career Advice"…and, well, it made me wonder how the career meetings of some of our other favorite characters went. Fred and George had me especially intrigued. ;)<p>

This was a little tribute to their brilliance. And, of course, to Professor McGonagall, whom I adore with all my heart.

Yours sincerely,  
>Alohaemora<p> 


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